


cause then you're not just history

by leov66



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Dystopia, Friends to Lovers, Hurt No Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Murder, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, a very weak attempt at recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:59:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leov66/pseuds/leov66
Summary: Shiro conformed.You’ve already lost an arm, what more do you have to lose before you agree,they probably told him, and he, in his faith in honour and honesty, believed that they wouldn’t hurt him again. And they did, over and over. And by hurting Shiro, they hurt Keith.Hunger Games AU. After Shiro's chosen as District Twelve's male tribute, Keith's entire world collapses. Then, Shiro returns, victorious and broken. Things never go back to how they were before.





	1. district twelve, part one

**Author's Note:**

> the hunger games (in the hunger games trillogy) is an annual event in which twenty-four 12- to 18-year olds from Panem's 12 districts fight to death in an arena. the last living tribute wins and is allowed to go back to their district and live in comfort.

Keith doesn’t remember what it’s like to sleep peacefully. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, he kills his enemies over and over, a thousand times each night, stabs and cuts and slices until there is real blood beneath his own fingertips and his arms are once again scratched raw. The Games might’ve ended, but he never really left the arena. Or perhaps it didn’t leave him. Dawn meets his tired eyes and the only solace he finds are those shy rays of sunshine kissing his face. That’s when he manages to fall asleep, perhaps for an hour or two. He doesn’t need much anyway, these days. 

 

He’s used to loneliness, regards it as one of the few things he holds dear that they couldn’t take away from him. He’s got a big kitchen now, in that big house he once desired, and it only collects dust. There used to be a housekeeper, but she eventually got scared of him and left. Just like everyone else. On those rare occasions on which he leaves the house, no one talks to him. They all once treated him like their collective child, always hungry and always angry but thankful for any help, and they helped him, paid him more than enough for whatever he hunted, agreed to exchange whatever clothes he’s grown out of, even if it was no more than rags, for something.

 

It’s cold, everyone’s at home, with their families. There’s fresh snow, and every step he takes, there’s another footprint left behind him. The first few times after he returned, they terrified him. Now, he’s neither aware nor afraid. He’s stopped caring, stopped feeling altogether. The knife, the bow, that’s all he needs, not remorse, not guilt. He’s had enough of that already.

 

He was supposed to be hunting, but eventually, he lies down on the snow and watches the world go on while he’s passive. No one would buy from him anymore. They’ve got the additional food now, don’t they? All because of him. He should be hailed as their hero. No, not hero. That sounds too close to the name he’s been avoiding, the name they’ve all been avoiding. Their _saviour_ , perhaps. He killed nine people, and now his district gets more resources and there’s actual money. Poverty has gone down the slightest bit. Everyone should be happy, but no one is. He once found, in a book about the old times, a story of a king who, despite winning the war, lost more than the other side. _If we are victorious once more, we shall be ruined._ That’s what it is, they won but ultimately lost. There’s no victory against the Capitol, you either conform or die. Or, like in Keith’s case, do neither and wish you did both. 

 

Shiro conformed. _You’ve already lost an arm, what more do you have to lose before you agree_ , they probably told him, and he, in his faith in honour and honesty, believed that they wouldn’t hurt him again. And they did, over and over. And by hurting Shiro, they hurt Keith. 

 

He remembers, oh, he does. Every single scar that they removed off his body but hurt just like a real one (except for the ones on his face, the Games had to have their reminders), the hair, once a raven black that mirrored Keith’s, turned weak and sickly white, the prosthetic arm, silver and cold and foreign. Remembers the nightmares that woke Keith up despite the wall separating their rooms in the Capitol, Shiro's screams echoing through both rooms. Remembers the wreck that was created for the public’s amusement.

 

At the same time, he remembers the boy he loved, the boy that loved him back as well. The hot summers, the sun warming them up as they swam in the cold creeks, their stomachs so full that they could barely move, their bags and pockets filled with edible plants, fish, their bottles with fresh water and berries, the happiness they thought they’d have forever. The first kisses they shared, slow and shy, on a tree, too afraid to come down because _I’m pretty sure there was a bear, Shiro, it’s too dangerous_. He laughed, but he didn’t jump off the branch like Keith thought he would.

 

“I’ll defend you from anything, don’t worry”, he said and reached out to touch his cheek. There was a big, fat rabbit near the tree that Keith could’ve shot easily, but the taste of his best friend’s mouth was enough for him to be satisfied. He remembers what they said under the stars and in the grass, overwhelmed with love, so happy that it felt surreal, the looks they only shared when no one was looking, the touches, the easy intimacy, the way they knew just what to do to each other to stay warm in the winter. There were so many good things, so many beautiful things about Shiro, and they destroyed every single one.

 

“I love you”, he’d said when they were alone for these few minutes before the guards came in and forced Shiro to go on that damn train, please, take care of yourself and my mother. Keith wanted to step in, to volunteer as tribute, to save him, but all it took was one stare to know that it was the only thing that could break Shiro’s heart more. 

 

“Stop talking like that, you’re gonna make it,” he replied and kissed him, as desperately as he always did.

 

They should’ve run away like they once said they would. There was no victory in losing himself.

 

Silent and passive, Keith watched Shiro kill one person after another. With bare hands, a knife, a sword, it didn’t matter, and as the Games progressed, his reputation began to spread over the entire arena. Some of the survivors called him Champion as if that was an insult. Keith didn’t say anything when Shiro’s mother cried, only gripped her hand so tightly that their knuckles went white. No one had expected the sweetheart from the interviews to turn into a cold-blooded murderer, but the sponsors must’ve loved it. He kept receiving various gifts, medicine, food, weapons. Someone gave him a fucking _spear_ , don’t people know how many families that amount of money could feed? The Capitol’s vanity made him sick to his stomach. He never said anything, though, he kept his cool on the outside. He did just as Shiro asked him to, hunted enough for both of their families, made sure they wouldn’t starve, gave in and took tesserae for both himself and his father to support Shiro’s family even more. 

 

He wasn’t surprised that Shiro won. It only terrified him to see what they’d done to him. The prosthetic, the hair, the scar. It wasn’t his friend, his _lover_ who’d triumphed, it was only the Champion. The victor’s expression was unreadable as the golden wreath was placed on his head.

 

The day of his return was silent. No one cheered and clapped, just like they didn’t when he was leaving. Seemed like their district understood there was no glory in that survival. The mayor spoke, his daughter stood beside him the whole time, eyeing Shiro. It made Keith angry, even if he wasn’t sure if there was anything between them after the Games anymore.

 

Shiro’s mother moved to the Victors’ Village and she no longer needed Keith. It seemed like Shiro himself didn’t, either. They never spoke. Keith just went on with his life like he had to do, went to school, hunted, traded, over and over and over. There was still that constant pain in his chest at any thought about the days gone by, but he learnt to ignore it.

 

The next Reaping was far different from the previous one. Keith didn’t care about being chosen anymore. Shiro stood tall against the escort, holding on far better than the other living victor their district had, an old drunkard, too bitter and too drunk to do anything. It must be fate, he thought when his name was called out. (He never heard Shiro’s sharp intake of breath, never saw the fist he curled. The once open book was sealed shut, even for him.)

 

His father was too sick to come to the Reaping and the last memory Keith had of him was that of an old man, vomiting into a bowl, miserable and consumed by his own body. There was no one to say their goodbyes to neither him nor the girl that was chosen, and so it went even smoother than usual. 

 

“The train’s door closed behind us in less than thirty minutes,” the escort said like it was some sort of achievement, as if being alone and unloved was something to be proud of. Keith couldn’t help but clench his teeth, and for a second, he thought he saw disgust on Shiro’s face as well.

 

Now that there were two mentors to choose from, it seemed like they might have some sort of choice, but the second he crossed eyes with the drunkard, he knew the man would go for the girl. She seemed like the type to die quick. It was good, that meant one against twenty-two, not twenty-three. The two of them left the dining cart to discuss strategy and suddenly he and Shiro were alone in a room for the first time since he was leaving for his own Games.

 

“It’s already on”, Shiro said, you need to understand that. “You have killed before. There’s no difference, we all die like animals. Do what you need to do to survive.”

 

“I know,” he managed in reply. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to say, but that was not the time. They weren’t meant to have time.

 

He arrived at the Capitol ready to kill and that was exactly what he’d shown to the Gamemakers. There were so many things he was angry about, so many things these people had taken away that it wasn’t hard to imagine doing something to them. He’d earned himself ten points and a bunch of enemies that day. He got through the interviews like they didn’t matter because to him they didn’t. He couldn’t care less about what a bunch of perfumed snobs thought about him. Much to Shiro’s exasperation, he didn’t even try to strike an alliance with the Careers. _They’ll all try to kill me after a few days, anyway,_ he tried to reason. 

 

He and Shiro barely spoke, too trapped in some space between past and present. They’d cross eyes in hallways and then pretend they didn’t, act like they were strangers again despite Keith remembering everything, every smile, every kiss, every touch. Maybe that was his mistake, he held on to what once was instead of trying to fix what was now, fragile and small as it was. He saw Shiro talking to someone, one of the mentors, if he had to guess. The man was staring at him like he’d put the stars on the sky, eating up every word he said. He had never seen Shiro smile like this, so fake that it made Keith want to punch someone. Preferably the guy.

 

Days passed way too quickly and before he realized it, he was already in the Launch Room. Back in their district, they called it the Stockyard. The place animals go before slaughter. Shiro was there, too, staring right at him as he got dressed.

 

“You don’t have a token,” he’d said. “Nothing to remind you of home when you’re out there.”

 

Keith smiled sadly at that. “You didn’t have one, either.”

 

“It was you. It was always you.”

 

Shiro’s hands were on his waist when he pulled Keith in, hungry and desperate, just like when they first parted ways. Oh, how they’d both missed each other like that. Time seemed to stretch out just for them, gave them an illusion of time to make up for all the months they’d spent in silence. Despite everything, the kisses felt like home, like the old times, and Keith almost forgot there were cameras watching them everywhere. With his own back pressed against the wall and Shiro’s lips on his own, he let himself believe that they still could have this, when he returned. 

 

Ten seconds, the voice announced, and Shiro’s choked “take care” was the last thing he heard before they were separated by a wall of glass.


	2. district twelve, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took a lot of planning, and im so happy to finally share it with you! i hope it lives up to expectations:)

Remembering his time at the arena, he always recalls the stench of blood first. Behind his nails, on the grass, on the other tributes. They were all covered in it, in one way or another. There was too little water to care about being clean. Keith hid in the woods, hoping - _knowing_ \- that he had the biggest chance to survive there.

 

He knew all too well that there was no turning back, no changing the past, but still, he wished he could do it. He and Shiro should’ve run away when they still could. They would’ve made it, together. But as cannons’ sounds echoed in his ears each night, Keith let those thoughts go. All he could do for both himself and Shiro was to win.

 

He took a knife, a bow and as many arrows as possible from the Cornucopia, as well as some food and water, enough for three, maybe four days. As soon as he could, he ran to the forest, only escaping the slaughter by luck. Twelve tributes died the first day, which was close to a record, if Keith recalls correctly. He killed two on his way; both the girl from Five and the boy from Ten went quickly. Keith also noticed that the Careers were different this year. Tributes from Districts One to Four allied just as training week began, which was nothing unusual, but the very first night, all girls killed their respective partners. It must’ve appealed to the sponsors, because they started receiving gifts as soon as it was a possibility. As Keith struggled to find anything to eat, choosing to starve instead of showing others where he hid, they sat in their camp and ate whenever they felt so, drawing food from the pile they’d amassed. It was a show of power, but also overconfidence. Mainly overconfidence. 

 

That was part of why, given the chance a few days later, he didn’t hesitate to kill the half-blind one. She didn’t even have enough time to scream as his arrow pierced through her throat. Keith didn’t understand why they’d left _her_ to take the watch, knowing well that someone _will_ try to steal their things. He stepped over the corpse, took her knife (it never hurt to have more than one), some arrows (he was starting to run out) and some bread, along with two dead rabbits. He ran away, hoping he wouldn’t run into the remaining Careers on his way. Luckily, he didn’t.

 

Every time he was forced to kill, Keith made himself think of the past. One was for the future they took away from Shiro, another for the years they spent in hunger and poverty. The list went on and on. He had something to kill for, as terrible and twisted as it was.

 

Keith only broke once; all it took was the birds. He remembered jabberjays from his own district. He and Shiro played with them, sometimes. They’d sing short songs, or say _I love you’_ s over and over until they could hear the sounds all around them. The birds loved Shiro, Keith remembers. Maybe that was why he didn’t expect the screams. _Shiro’s_ screams. There was no more elaborate torture than hearing those cries of pain. They were exactly what he’d imagined them to be, but they froze him to the bone straightaway. The calm, collected demeanor he’d struggled so hard to keep up throughout the Games fell immediately as Keith let out a panicked cry. He ran, mindlessly following the sounds, screaming Shiro’s name until his throat went dry. It was all so realistic, so loud that he thought it was real.

 

Of course they’d used Shiro against him. The screams went on and on until he couldn’t stand and fell to the ground, begging for all this to stop, promising _he’ll do anything, don’t hurt him_. Keith hadn’t thought he’d ever stoop so low, but as the birds surrounded him and started biting at his shaking shoulders, he cried out for the only one he couldn’t save. That had been his lowest point, and the breaking point as well.

 

He didn’t think a lot about his parents, but some nights at the arena, he wondered if his mother was watching him from whenever she was. Back when he had Shiro, she felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by his friend’s loud and loving presence. He and Shiro were like family to each other, and so he never dwelled on her. At the arena, though, it felt like there was no one but Keith, and so memories crept up on him when he least expected it. A smell of a plant she used to grow in their little garden, the colour of her hair, the warmth oh her arms around him. The one thing he never saw, no matter how hard he tried to, was her face. Not even a hint of it, despite his best attempts. The only face that he saw was Shiro’s, without the scar and the fear, the way it was when they still had everything.

 

All he could possibly be thankful for is that the Games weren’t very long. Before a fortnight, there were only a few tributes left, which made killing the rest off easier for Keith. At least he wasn’t cruel; he didn’t make them suffer if he didn’t have to. _There’s no difference, we all die like animals_ , Shiro had told him back in District Twelve, but there was enough humanity left in Keith to finish his opponents with one shot, or blow, if he could. 

 

All but one. 

 

The girl had fought brilliantly, he recalls, biting and kicking for as long as she could. She was a real challenge, and the fury and desperate need for survival in her eyes echoed his own. Her name was Acxa, she was from District Two. For some reason, she looked familiar, but he didn’t want to think about that when he flipped her over on her back and put his hands on her throat. Despite that, she kept on fighting, wriggling her legs and trying to elbow him somehow, until there was no more air in her lungs. His shoulder felt like it was dislocated, his nose was broken and he was struggling to breathe himself, but  he pressed harder and harder, until he could feel her stiffen beneath him. Her blood was beneath his fingers and on his ripped clothes, but there was no sweeter sound than the cannon going off for the last time.

 

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, the victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Keith Kogane from District Twelve.”_

 

It must’ve taken them days to repair his broken body, and on the outside he looked- _presentable_. Adequate. Clean raven hair, pale, scar-free skin. No light in his eyes left. It must’ve been terrific to watch him, beautiful and cold as he was given his own crown of victory. He didn’t allow his stylist to reveal anything more than what he’d already shown, and so he wore black from head to toe, his hands gloved, his neck covered.

 

Shiro looked at him with the same look Keith had on his own face one year earlier. Keith couldn’t bear looking at him for long, not when his sanity was hanging by a thread. And so, the game of avoiding each other was on again, their secrets twirling between them like ink in water and their twice-lost love seeping into the ground and sinking in as if it was never there.

 

The train ride back to District Twelve was silent. Neither of them spoke - neither wanted to be the first one. Keith heard Shiro screaming at night, and Shiro must’ve heard him, too. Two years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated, they would’ve spent the night together, taking turns talking each other down, relying in each others’ warmth and the comfort their familiar bodies gave each other. 

 

Those nights were gone.

 

Days blur into weeks, weeks blur into months. Keith lives in a big house in the Victors’ Village. He’s on his own, he learned just as he arrived, Shiro’s mother avoiding his eyes, his father had died just a few days before Keith’s victory. Maybe it’s better for the old man, at least his last memory of his son isn’t _this_ , whatever he’s been shaped into. He and Shiro still don’t talk. Sleep feels like a privillege, but the nightmares that follow feel more like a curse than anything else. He wakes up at night, sweat-soaked and screaming, and no one stops him from scratching his arms until he’s bleeding. Tributes he killed laugh at him from their warm graves as he struggles to breathe, buried in bedsheets, too hot for comfort. 

 

Soon after his return, a housekeeper tried to help him with the house, before she got scared of him and ran away. She asked one question too many, and Keith screamed at her until they were both crying. He didn’t need sympathy, didn’t need a mother, either. She didn’t come back, and Keith regretted it for a few days before forgetting the woman’s face. He let go of the entire situation as he did with most.

 

The only thing that made his victory sweeter was the happiness on people’s faces when they started receiving more resources, money and _food_ ; the joy on children’s faces when they opened boxes of candy made him smile, despite everything. That was how Shiro must’ve felt when he won. Keith doesn’t remember much of these days, all there is in his head is grief, long days, even longer nights, loneliness. Not much has changed, then.

 

Winter takes him by surprise, and once it begins to snow, it feels like a neverending storm. Luckily, there’s enough coal to keep everyone warm. (There usually wasn’t.) He walks in the forest, carefully avoiding the places he used to roam with Shiro back when everything was easy. He shoots at the china from the kitchen drawer, since there’s no one to eat from it, anyway. He ignores everyone and everything, and thinks about what he’s going to do for the rest of his life. Back then, he was almost sure about his future. He’d work at the mine and hunt on Sundays. Maybe he and Shiro would live together. Most people must’ve figured who they were for each other, anyway. It wouldn’t be the most glorious life, but they’d manage. Or maybe they’d run away one day, when there was no one holding them back anymore. Keith likes to think about that possibility. Just the two of them, hiding from the world, alone together, free like no one else in their country.

 

He grows to hate Panem and the Capitol even more. He and Shiro would talk about it sometimes, a reality when there were no more districts, no more prisons and no more Games. Maybe if the Thirteenth District had won the Rebellion, they wouldn’t have to kill at the arena. Almost every night, he looks at the sky, wondering if any of the stars he sees are real or if they, too, are only a part of the artificial world he’d been brought into. 

 

As the winter snows begin to melt, he realizes it’s almost been half a year. The realization hits him without warning, and with it comes the Victory Tour. Exactly between one Games and another, the Capitol runs it to remind everyone who won the previous ones. Keith put it out of his mind, hoping he’d be spared, but of course there’s no avoiding that. Twelve days, he tells himself, twelve districts, twelve parties, twelve exact same speeches about the Capitol’s generosity and Keith’s gratitude for being alive.

 

He’s not ready when he arrives at the train station. He’s not ready when the mayor says his goodbyes. He’s not ready when he sees Shiro for the first time in a few months (it turns out they’re good at avoiding each other), standing just by his side. He’s not ready when he’s getting on the train. The door closes behind them and when they’re alone, he can feel Shiro’s hand in his.

 

_end of part one_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this au has got so much potential, it is definitely To Be Continued...


	3. the capitol, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He once found, in a book about the old times, a story of a king who, despite winning the war, lost more than the other side. If we are victorious once more, we shall be ruined. That’s what it is, they won but ultimately lost. There’s no victory against the Capitol, you either conform or die. Or, like in Keith’s case, do neither and wish you did both._ ~chapter one
> 
>  
> 
> the games were only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god if this wasn't a monster to write... i am here nonetheless. we are all in pain and we all love to suffer and this is exactly what this chapter delivers.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: FLASHBACKS, VOMIT, GORE, BLOOD, EXPLICIT DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE, DEATH* please stay safe and if any of this content is upsetting to you consider turning back
> 
>  
> 
> *no mcd don't worry i wouldnt play yall like that

_He’s running out of energy sooner than he’s anticipated, which is a very bad sign. He lets out a shaky breath, but it’s barely enough to keep him going. The girl keeps on fighting, though. Almost as if in reaction to his own thoughts, she elbows him in the nose. The audible crack and the warm blood running down his face are enough to snap him back into survival mode. Despite choking on his blood from the uncomfortable angle, he makes a move at her face. He claws at her face and revels in the feeling of her skin and blood under his fingertips, as animallistic as that sounds. They roll around on the grass, wrestling with each other, waiting for the other to give in. There’s no time for calculation and nothing precise about the way he pins her to the ground with the remains of his strength and wraps his arms around her throat. His grip tightens as he presses further and further into her pale neck, but she keeps on fighting. She tries to wriggle her way out somehow; her will to live is impressive and almost enough to match his own._

 

_The less she fights back and the more she stiffens beneath him, the more similar her face seems to become. Hber eyes are almost the same shade as his, there’s something familiar about the arch of her brow and her nose. Second after second, her face becomes more and more like his own. As she runs out of air, so does he, and when she finally dies, he realizes he’s been choking himself all along._

 

 

Keith wakes up out of breath. His window is open and at least there’s some fresh air for when his chest finally starts to work like it should. The night would’ve felt like any other if it wasn’t for the distant, unstopping sounds of the railtrack. _The Victory Tour_ , he reminds himself like he’s had to every night since he stepped on the train. Two districts and one party at the Capitol, then he can go back to Twelve and ignore everyone for as long as he can. Ideally, forever.

 

So far, the tour had been relatively calm. He was forced to give a speech at every district’s main square, usually reading whatever useless string of sentences his escort handed him. He didn’t cause any trouble. He and Shiro didn’t even look at each other in public. He was the Capitol’s perfect victor, stone-cold, obedient, numb to everyone and everything.

 

Somewhere around District Nine Keith snapped at the escort at dinner when she offhandedly mentioned something about a workers’ strike. _Of course she wouldn’t understand why they did it, she was just a dumb puppet sent from the Capitol who got lucky because she got to show off twice in a row_ , he’d told her and didn’t regret it at all. Shiro watched the confrontation silently, though he was gripping the fork until his knuckles went white. Only after she’d left with tears in her eyes, saying something about ungrateful and unstable children did he look up to meet Keith’s eyes. There was anew edge to them, something unknown. An explosive mix of concern and anger, perhaps. Not being able to read Shiro’s emotions so easily wasn’t new, Keith’s had more than a year of getting used to it, but the shock and the pang in his chest never really went away.

 

“At the party”, Shiro started carefully, “there will be a thousand people who will be waiting to tear you apart. Capitol’s greatest pimps and madmen. She will be the only one on your side.”

 

Keith’s response was immediate and sharp enough to cut glass. “I don’t care. She thinks we’re just poor, fucked up kids.”

 

“Aren’t we, though? Well, maybe not poor anymore.”

 

There was a ghost of their old playfulness in their conversation, a part of it which didn’t die when they’d both been chosen to fight to the death. Maybe if Keith closed his eyes and they both pretended well enough, they could switch the topic to something that didn’t make him want to break something. He couldn’t bear looking at Shiro for longer than a few seconds. There was too much in them, it would’ve felt too real.

 

“That’s not the point. When I get off the train, it’s over. I won, right? Now they leave me the fuck alone.”

 

“Keith, this doesn’t end when you get off the train. As long as there’s something about you that they don’t know, this isn’t over. As long as they can use you, you’re theirs.”

 

Keith felt sick to the stomach. Of course there was no happy ending, no time to release the breath he’d been holding, but to hear it from Shiro was another thing. Shiro had always been the idealist between the two of them. “There’s nothing more about me that they can use,” he lied. It didn’t help him sleep at night.

 

_The arena is like a living thing, envelopes him in its sick aura of fear and blood. Keith’s stronger than that, stronger than any other tribute, but he’s terrified. He doesn’t sleep out of fear that someone might kill him while he’s asleep, even though he’s on his own in the forest and hasn’t seen any tribute in a few days. He’s so tired, he almost just lays down and lets the ground swallow him whole. It’s too much, the blood on his clothes and in his breath, the canons that ring almost every night. He’s crossing the thin line between hallucinations and reality - he knows it, he really does, there have been years when he starved for so long he was ready to bite the wood off trees just to feel something in his stomach, years when he was always so tired he didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. A bird flies overhead and he doesn’t even reach for his bow._

 

_Then the bird begins to scream Keith’s name and it’s Shiro’s voice and the line is gone. He screams for as long as he can, follows the bird and its companions and just keeps on screaming Shiro Shiro Shiro until there’s blood in his throat and he falls on his knees. He didn’t kill a single bird and so all of them flock him until his vision is just black and red from their wings and his blood. They nab at his shoulders and feast on his body and he lets them, the only conscious thought being Shiro Shiro Shiro-_

 

 _“They only repeat what they heard,”_ _he’d heard what feels like a lifetime ago. He looks up and there’s Shiro in his place, screaming just like the birds did. They eat his arm and claw at his face and Keith can scream again but he wishes they’d taken his eyes before it all started._

 

 

Keith tries to take a breath, then another. That’s enough for now, at least he can control _something_. There’s no way he’s going back to sleep after that one. He gets out of bed and leaves the room as quick as possible, heading to the end of the wagon and the spacious balcony. It’s been calming to watch the neverending railtrack for the last few nights. It’s cold outside, especially given the train’s in constant motion, but he’s been cold for a long time now.

 

“It’s so quiet,” Shiro says from behind. Keith hasn’t heard him come in. He doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eyes off the track.

 

“The ones at the mines weren’t that quiet,” he replies. It brings back a string of memories; back at District Twelve they used to have some school days off to help at the mine, especially in the wintertime when there was never enough people. Despite being so deep underground and risking death at every wrong move, Keith felt calm in the mine. At least he’d die quickly if it collapsed. At least he’d have Shiro by his side. Why did they have to have so many death-stained memories?

 

“We’re their best animals now, of course it’s better.” Something about that bitter smile feels more sincere than every word they’ve spoken since Keith’s Games.

 

Keith almost smiles at that, too. “Coming right to the stockyard.”

 

He remembers their conversation at the Stockyard, a few precious seconds that were enough for Keith to hold on to for the entire duration of the Games. The kiss was so desperate and painful, nothing like the ones they used to share, but it was life. It was love. It was everything the Games had shattered. “Two more Districts, the Capitol and we can go _home_.” The word slipped in before he could even notice it. _Home_. They haven’t been home since Shiro’s Games.

 

“Home,” Shiro says like he’s testing it on his tongue. “There’s no home.”

 

“There’s still you and me.” Not _us_ , never _us_ again. The train keeps moving, the cold keeps biting at them and the silence keeps hurting.

 

 

District Two is obviously better and bigger than the ones he’s seen before. The people in it seem bigger, more satisfied. Keith hates them all at first sight. They’re everything District Twelve could ever wish for, rich, full and blissfully ignorant of it. The ceremony itself is just like every one before, with fallen tributes’ families and their faces behind them. There’s no one in front of Acxa’s face.

 

Now that he’s no longer fighting to the death or in a nightmare, he takes a closer look at the features that have been haunting him since the Games. Just as he’s remembered, there’s something familiar about her that he can’t place. She must’ve been younger than him, maybe two or three years, he can see that young age on her face despite the brave expression she wore on the photo. He hadn’t known her before, but she wasn’t a stranger to him. She feels like something he’d lost but remembered having.

 

The crowd’s silence is deafening. Keith looks at the speech his escort wrote for him and tears it to pieces; his first act of open defiance.

 

“I’m not- good at this, but I need to say it. No one else will, because there’s no one here for her. She’s not the only person I killed, but she fought me like an equal, and it was a real fight. And if I’d done one thing differently, she’d be standing in my district like I am in hers, and there would be no one for me like there is no one for her. She won’t be hailed as a hero or even remembered, but there’s someone like her in every Games.”

 

It’s the first time he’s been honest with himself or anyone since the Games, and it seems like even the people of District Two can appreciate that. _Or maybe he’s just telling the truth_ , he thinks over a rising applause. “There’s someone like her in every Games, and people like her always die for people like me to win.”

 

District Two is the one with the most victors. Keith’s heard rumours about a school that prepares children to volunteer at the Games and win, as if that really was some kind of glory. Its tributes have always been the most bloodthirsty; it made sense for Acxa to have been born on such soil. And yet there he stands, victorious and with his hands twitching like he could kill someone again. And yet they all clap, happy to imagine her blood on him and it feels like it’s falling down his arms. “Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”

 

Keith steps on the train happily numb to everyone and everything, not even aware of Shiro’s worried glance.

 

 

 

Nightmares wake him up like they do every night. This time he’s drowning in blood and when he wakes up, he can still feel it filling his lungs. Leaning on the bedframe, he coughs until the remains of yesterday’s dinner come up to his throat and throws it all up in the bathroom.

 

Shiro’s on the balcony again when Keith reaches it; his prosthetic arm is off and against the dark sky he looks vulnerable. Watching him feels like an invasion of privacy.“The speech,” he starts because the topic’s unavoidable. “They’re either going to hate you or love you for it. I don’t know what’s worse.”

 

“I should’ve lied about it. Or just read whatever she gave me.” The slight breeze helps calm down his nausea, but it’s only replaced with guilt. “I don’t want anymore people to get hurt because of me.”

 

Shiro scoffs at that. “It’s not your fault, you just told them the truth.” There it is again; there used to be afternoons when they’d be brave enough to venture deeper into the forest, on sun-soaked meadows and by old creeks. Those were places for secrets, words they couldn’t say anywhere but there, accusations of the Capitol’s greed, selfishness and ignorance. Of course they lived by the rules like every citizen had to, but the rules ended when survival began. The Games were enough proof for that. (Shiro was always more vocal about his hatred.

 

“This is- not the place and not the time,” Keith chokes out. There’s _anymore_ somewhere in there, but it doesn’t need to be said. Suddenly, there are so many emotions inside him, probably every single one he’s repressed since the Games. He looks up at Shiro and wishes he could turn back time to back when they didn’t have anything but each other. His raw stare is met with a sensless one and it’s all a reminder; now it feels like they don’t have anything at all.

 

Shiro doesn’t say anything, but his hand seems to twitch for a split second. Maybe it remembers holding Keith’s when the train took off. “There won’t ever be a place or a time, but it’s all still here. They didn’t take my memories.”

 

“Maybe they should have. And taken mine while they were at it.”

 

 

District One passes by in a frenzy of faces he doesn’t care about. Keith’s the perfect winner again, untouchable and obedient. He reads whatever he’s been given in the most monotone voice he can muster and the audience politely claps when he’s over. Keith doesn’t remember the tributes from One, anyway, so he doesn’t have any sort of sentiment towards the families. All he thinks about is the conversation he had with Shiro. _Are they too fucked up to talk to each other?_ He almost lets himself slip and show more than a neutral facial expression, but he collects himself before anyone notices.

 

The thing with Shiro is that with so much history behind them, it’s impossible to just ignore it and pretend nothing ever happened. They always put each other before everything; there used to be months when Keith gave up most of whatever they managed to hunt or exchange for Shiro’s family, or when Keith took most of the money to buy medicine (or at least morphine) for his father. What they had stood on honesty and real love, and they can’t afford either of those after the Games. Whenever they talk now, part of him wants to scream and let everything out and beg Shiro to take whatever’s left of them just to see if they can still make it work, while the rest doesn’t even want to meet his eye. Keith can’t bring himself to ignore him completely and be numb to him like he is to everyone and everything else, and so he’s neither uncaring nor able to tell the truth.

 

 

 

The night before they reach the Capitol, the three of them dine in silence. The escort tries to instruct him on proper behaviour, they both know he’s just going to be quiet and not make himself known unless he has to.

 

“Did she tell you the same thing?”, Keith asks when she leaves. She’s given up on spending more time with Keith than it’s necessary, which is a blessing. The look in Shiro’s eyes make him regret even opening his mouth. It’s like he’s gone back in time to his own tour, and although Keith doesn’t remember much of it, it doesn’t seem like he took it well. At least Keith has him and doesn’t have to put up with the drunkard’s antics. Of course the two of them were walking on thin ice, but at least he had a familiar face to look at. It wasn’t the smartest decision to bring it up.“You can just forget I asked.” Or maybe they’ve been holding it all in for too long.

 

Shiro takes a few more seconds to pull himself together, but his expression eventually snaps back to normal. “Not here,” he says and his words have a raw edge to them. It’s like Keith tore open a wound that Shiro’s been hellbent on keeping closed. Keith doesn’t move at that, doesn’t even flinch despite the urge. He really has no idea what he’s doing when he decides to stand up and leads Shiro to his own bedroom. Even more surprisingly, Shiro follows without a question. There’s a moment of hesitation by the door, but Keith figures since they’ve managed so far, backing out is out of the question.

 

Shiro stands by the bed while Keith decides to lean on the door. It’s the closest they’ve stood in a long time, except maybe for the short moment when they held hands. That moment has been running through his head probably non-stop since it happened. He can’t seem to figure it out. Keith takes a breath and ignores his heart pounding in his chest. “Before the train left, we- you held my hand.”

 

“You needed it.”

 

Keith can’t bear to look Shiro in the eyes when they’re like that. They used to be selfish with one another, free from all the responsibilities and fears at Twelve, but now it feels like the most they can do for each other is to be selfless. No more taking, even if the price was going to be high.

 

“Are we too broken to work?”, Keith asks. He tries to make it strong, but it comes out pained and quiet. The answer is already there, somewhere between Shiro’s prosthetic, the scar on his face and the ones in their minds.

 

Shiro doesn’t move. “I don’t know, Keith. I don’t have all the answers.” _Anymore_. They still need each other; that much is obvious in the way they talk. You can’t cut off your whole universe.

 

“When we’re back at Twelve,” he starts as quietly as he can, “do you think that we could…talk more?” He’s not asking for much, right? All he wants is time for healing. Preferably together.

 

Shiro swallows and lets the question hang in the air. He takes a breath, than another. “I’m not coming back to Twelve, Keith.”

 

It’s a punch to the stomach, it’s the exact same feeling he had when he fell off a tall tree once. It pushes all the air out of his lungs. “You’re- not coming back?”, Keith chokes out. _You can’t leave again_ , he wants to say but of course doesn’t. Of course it wouldn’t be anything like he’d like it to. He should’ve seen it coming.

 

“I can’t do it. Why are you coming back? There’s nothing left there for you and me.”

 

There is an easy option; Keith can stay, too. Shiro’s right, there’s nothing left at Twelve, but he couldn’t do it. Just like Shiro can’t seem to go back. They do have all the time in the world, right? They can meet sometimes, and maybe - _maybe_ -one day they will have healed enough to try again. For now, it’s not enough. He doesn’t want to settle for a half-truth, half-anything, but it’s all he has. They were both hungry in every sense of that word, but Keith’s been starving all his life.

 

“At least stay here tonight,” he says and Shiro does. It’s so much harder than it used to be (they’re so different now and everything is a reminder of that), but it’s warmth, it’s a heartbeat near his own. They’re alive.

 

The train’s sounds echo in the distance and all Keith can feel is Shiro’s heat close to his body. Nothing’s alright, but a missing piece (one of many) begins to snap back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates? well there WILL be one. someday. at some point. ps tell me which quote breaks you the most thanks xx

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [@euphra-sie](https://euphra-sie.tumblr.com) please yell at me
> 
>  
> 
> **comments and kudos keep writers motivated.**
> 
> EDIT 10.01.2019: YOU GUYS THERE IS [ACTUAL GORGEOUS FANART OF VICTOR!KEITH](https://hyun-nh.tumblr.com/post/181657922472/victor-keith-it-mustve-been-terrific-to-watch) AND I ABSOLUTELY CANT COPE


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